The Unforseen Consequences Affair
by cein
Summary: part 4 - Napoleon fears the worst when his security alarm is set off
1. Blind Sided

The Unforeseen Consequences Affair  
  
Part 1 – Blind Sided  
  
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"I don't like this," commented Illya Kuryakin softly, from his position by the door, which was opened just a crack.  
  
His partner Napoleon Solo didn't even glance up from where he was crouched on the floor, picking the lock on a filing cabinet. "What don't you like?" he asked absently as he concentrated on his task.  
  
Illya glanced briefly at him before restoring his attention to the corridor outside the room. "This whole business…something just doesn't 'feel' right."  
  
Napoleon had learned through experience to trust his partner's instincts for danger. He paused in his task and looked over at him. "Anything in particular? I mean, so far this 'information retrieval' has been a piece of cake."  
  
"That is what's bothering me," said Illya, slowly. "There were only two guards on duty outside…hardly any security system worth talking about…and this information that we are seeking is stored in an ordinary cabinet with locks so easy that a child could pick them."  
  
Napoleon considered Illya's words only briefly before replying, "So? You would have preferred it if we'd had to fight our way in past an army, dodging laser beams and vicious guard dogs while being shot at every inch of the way?"  
  
Illya shrugged. "It would have been more…familiar."  
  
Napoleon shook his head in amusement. "You know what your trouble is?" he asked with a wry smile.  
  
"No, but I am sure you are going to tell me."  
  
"You *like* it when things are difficult," said Napoleon as he resumed his efforts at picking the lock. "You see it as a challenge. Haven't you ever heard the expression of looking a gift horse in the mouth?" He heard a click as the final tumblers shifted into place. Looking over at Illya, he smiled, "You see? Sometimes things *can* be easy."  
  
Illya was frowning as he glanced at the cabinet…there was something just not right about the way this assignment had gone so smoothly. But maybe Napoleon was right…maybe he *did* just like a challenge. He watched as his partner carefully pulled at the drawer…and then in the silence, they both heard an audible click.  
  
"It's a trap," yelled Illya, moving even as he spoke. "Get back!"  
  
People often said that in the instant before facing death, your whole life flashed before your eyes. Well Napoleon had faced death on so many occasions that if that were true, he'd have known exactly when and where to concentrate on the good parts. He had always had the sensation of time slowing down…and now was no exception. He heard the click resounding through his brain even as he realized that his partner was right and that they had walked right into a trap. He caught a mere glimpse of a wire that must have armed the trap even as he tried to raise his hands in front of him in a futile attempt to shield himself from the explosive force that he *knew* was going impact on him in mere seconds.  
  
To his surprise, the anticipated force didn't come from in front of him, but from the side…knocking him clear of the blast that echoed round the room. He instinctively curled up into a ball in an effort to protect himself from the debris that was hurled across the room. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the noise subsided.  
  
Napoleon carefully rolled onto his hands and knees. The filing cabinet…or rather, the remains of it were smoldering only a few feet away from him. He sucked in his breath, realizing just how close he had come *this* time. "Looks like you got me out of the way just in time, Illya," he said, glancing round the room in search of his partner. "How many times does this make it…" His voice died away as he saw Illya crumpled motionless against the far wall. Blood was streaming down the side his face from an ugly looking gash, and when Napoleon reached him a few seconds later; he could see a myriad of tiny cuts on his friend's face.  
  
To his relief, Illya was still breathing, and a quick check revealed no other immediate injuries. Using his handkerchief to try and stem the bleeding from the gash, Napoleon pulled out his communicator and sent an urgent request for immediate back up.  
  
"Hang in there, Illya," he said. "We'll soon be out of here."  
  
-------------------  
  
It was a little longer than 'soon' when reinforcements arrived, but within a few hours, both Napoleon and Illya were in the UNCLE medical facility at headquarters. Napoleon was there under duress, having insisted that he was suffering from nothing more than bruises, and severe embarrassment at having being caught by such a simple trap.  
  
"I seem to remember that on several previous occasions you claimed to have suffered no damage only for the x-rays to prove otherwise," replied Mr. Waverly. "You will remain here until the doctor clears you to leave, and that's an order."  
  
"Yes sir," replied Napoleon gloomily. "But will someone at least tell me how Illya is?" A still unconscious Illya had been whisked away immediately upon there return to headquarters and Napoleon hadn't seen him since.  
  
"Mr. Kuryakin is being treated down the hall," replied Mr. Waverly. "Once the doctor clears you, you may leave, but not before. Is that understood?"  
  
"Yes Sir," replied Napoleon, obediently. He remained compliant only as long as it took Mr. Waverly to leave the area, and then to charm one of the nurses into finding him a set of scrubs to pull on over his aching body.  
  
Looking anxiously into each room as he passed, Napoleon was soon rewarded with the sight of a familiar shock of blond hair. The nurse in the room with him appeared to be cleaning his face. She looked up and smiled at Napoleon as he sauntered through the door and leaned idly against the wall. "You know, when you've finished with my partner there, I believe that I could use some ah, 'personal' attention." He smiled at the nurse.  
  
"You must be Napoleon Solo," said the nurse, blushing slightly.  
  
"I see my reputation precedes me," smiled Napoleon.  
  
Illya cleared his throat, "When you're *quite* finished," he said, pointedly.  
  
Napoleon frowned slightly as the nurse resumed her task. There was something about Illya's voice…an edge that was barely noticeable…and probably wouldn't have been noticed by anyone less well acquainted with the Russian. "So how're you feeling?" he asked. "No major damage, I hope?"  
  
"A few broken ribs…a concussion…cuts," replied Illya, evenly. "And oh yes, I appear to be blind."  
  
------------------  
  
To be continued.  
  
Ceindreadh 


	2. Taking care of our own

The Unforeseen Consequences Affair - part 2  
  
-------------------  
  
Previously on The Man from UNCLE -   
A seemingly straightforward 'information retrieval' assignment turned out to be a trap. Napoleon narrowly escaped death when Illya managed to push him out of the way of a booby-trapped filing cabinet. Napoleon escaped with minor bruising, but his main concern was for his partner who had been rendered unconscious by the blast. Escaping from his room in UNCLE's sickbay, he was relieved to find Illya being tended to by a pretty nurse.   
  
-------------------   
  
Napoleon frowned slightly as the nurse resumed her task. There was something about Illya's voice...an edge that was barely noticeable...and probably wouldn't have been noticed by anyone less well acquainted with the Russian. "So how're you feeling?" he asked. "No major damage, I hope?"  
  
"A few broken ribs...a concussion...cuts," replied Illya, evenly. "And oh yes, I appear to be blind."  
  
------------------  
  
Napoleon froze in place for an instant at Illya's words. Then forgoing his usual gallantry, he almost pushed the nurse out of the way so he could stand in front of his friend. "Illya?" said Napoleon, a note of shock in his voice.  
  
Against the pale skin - paler now than it usually was - the scratches on Illya's face seemed much more pronounced and raw than they had been earlier. It was obvious that Napoleon had interrupted the nurse as she was cleaning away the worst of the damage...the visible damage anyway. As he watched, Napoleon saw Illya slowly and with obvious pain, try to force his eyes open.  
  
"Can you see anything?" asked Napoleon.   
  
Illya slowly blinked his eyes open, hoping that he would be able to see something...anything. Logically he knew that there was unlikely to have been any change in his condition since the last time he had opened his eyes at the doctor's insistence, but he had to try. Now as he tried to look in the direction that the voice was coming from, all he could see was the same blur that had greeted him upon regaining consciousness in sick-bay - or what he had been *told* was sick-bay - a few hours earlier.  
  
"It's all just a blur," he said finally, his shoulders slumping slightly as he let his eyes fall shut. He could feel someone squeezing his shoulder reassuringly and by the touch and strength he knew it was Napoleon. Wordlessly, he caught at the hand, squeezing it in acknowledgment, before letting go.  
  
Finally Illya spoke again. "The doctor said that fragments from the explosion may have caused a corneal abrasion. He believes that the damage *should* heal...but he couldn't guarantee it." There was a rare sound of uncertainty in Illya's voice as he spoke, but it was gone when he abruptly changed the subject. "Did you brief Mr. Waverly on the mission?" he addressed the space in front of him.  
  
Napoleon knew that this was Illya's attempt to restore some control to his situation by focusing on his work. "Mr. Waverly has been given a full report," he replied, "Such as it is. He believes that the whole 'leak' regarding the information was a set-up."  
  
Illya nodded. "I always had doubts about the reliability of that source...we shall have to be more careful next time." He didn't have to add 'if there *is* a next time'.  
  
"Mr. Solo," interrupted the nurse. "I have to finish cleaning and dressing Mr. Kuryakin's eyes."  
  
"Of course," said Napoleon, standing back out of the way.   
  
An observer would have noticed his apparent air of detachment as he watched the nurse clean the area before applying eye drops, followed by secure dressings. But the cool façade that he projected, masked a mind full of concern for his friend, and guilt that he was the cause of his injury. Oh it wasn't the first time that Illya had saved his life, nor was it the first time that he had been injured while doing so. Napoleon himself had picked up his fair share of scraps while protecting his partner. But they had always been fortunate enough to escape permanent injury. Permanent...the word echoed round his head. If Illya's condition was permanent, then it spelled the end of his career with UNCLE. Napoleon resolutely pushed the thought out of his mind. Illya *would* regain his sight...he *had* to.  
  
-------------------  
  
But three days later, as Napoleon, Mr. Waverly and Illya's doctor gathered in his room, there had been no improvement.  
  
"It's still early days," said Dr. Harte. "Eye injuries are fairly unpredictable. Mr. Kuryakin's sight could easily return within a few days or weeks..."  
  
"Or never," said Illya, quietly.  
  
"That is possible," admitted the doctor. "But at this stage, it's just a case of wait and se...of waiting."  
  
The room fell silent for a few seconds, before Illya spoke, with the air of one who had been considering his words for a while.  
  
"If 'waiting' is all that can be done...then I would prefer to do it somewhere other than sick bay."  
  
Mr. Waverly nodded in understanding. "Accommodation will be arranged upstairs for you as soon as Dr. Harte gives the all clear."  
  
"Mr. Kuryakin can be released today if he wishes," said Dr. Harte. "Rest is what he really needs now. His dressings will need to be changed regularly, but a nurse can be sent upstairs when necessary."  
  
"I would prefer to go home," interrupted Illya, with an edge in his voice. "Not sickbay...not 'upstairs in secure accommodation'...just somewhere *not* here. It would be more...more 'restful'."   
  
"I hardly think that that would be advisable, Mr. Kuryakin," said Mr. Waverly. "You are not exactly operating at peak efficiency, and while I do not believe that the trap you fell victim to was aimed specifically at you or Mr. Solo, I am sure that there are many enemies out there of both UNCLE and you personally, who would see your vulnerability as an opportunity too good to pass up."  
  
"I am well able to take care of myself," said Illya, a note of stubbornness in his voice.  
  
"Really," observed Mr. Waverly. Without warning, he threw a matchbox straight at Illya.  
  
Napoleon's hand shot out and caught it only inches from Illya's face. Mr. Waverly looked thoughtful, Dr. Harte looked shocked, Napoleon looked angry, and Illya frowned, aware that something of significance had happened.   
  
"I will take care of him," said Napoleon, quietly. The tone in his voice, made it clear that this was not an issue on which he would be swayed. "He'll be safe with me."  
  
"Do you have any objections, Mr. Kuryakin?" asked Mr. Waverly.  
  
"That will be acceptable," replied Illya.   
  
"Good," said Mr. Waverly. "Mr. Solo, a word with you...now."  
  
Napoleon followed his boss outside. "Sir?"  
  
"Mr. Solo, I am sure you are aware that UNCLE cannot afford to do without its top two 'section 2' agents for an extended period of time."  
  
"Sir, I..."  
  
Mr. Waverly ignored Napoleon's interruption as he continued, "However, some time off would probably benefit you as well as Mr. Kuryakin."  
  
"Thank you, Sir." Napoleon was silent for a few seconds before speaking again, "Sir...if Illya *doesn't* regain his sight and has to leave UNCLE...what will happen to him?"   
  
Mr. Waverly regarded Napoleon carefully before replying. "Mr. Kuryakin is one of our own...and we take care of our own."  
  
"Thank you, Sir," said Napoleon again.  
  
---------------------  
  
To be continued  
  
Ceindreadh 


	3. Mr. Kuryakin has always been stubborn

Title - The Unforeseen Consequences affair  
Chapter 3 - Mr. Kuryakin has always been stubborn  
  
Disclaimer - Sadly I don't own any of the characters, but if I ask real nicely then maybe I'll be allowed to borrow them from MGM.  
  
Rating - PG-13 for this chapter, later ones may be rated higher.   
Archive - If you like it, sure.  
  
-------------------  
  
Previously on The Man from UNCLE -   
A seemingly straightforward 'information retrieval' assignment turned out to be a trap. Napoleon narrowly escaped death when Illya managed to push him out of the way of a booby-trapped filing cabinet. Napoleon escaped with minor bruising, but his main concern was for his partner who had been rendered unconscious by the blast. Escaping from his room in UNCLE's sickbay, he was relieved to find Illya being tended to by a pretty nurse.  
To his shock, he found out that Illya had been blinded by the explosion, and the doctors were unable to predict whether his condition would be permanent or not. After a few days without any improvement, Illya insisted that he be allowed to leave, maintaining that he could take care of himself, even if his enemies tried to take advantage of his injured state. The issue was settled when Napoleon said that he would look after Illya. Afterwards, Mr. Waverly called him aside to warn him that UNCLE could not do without both him and Illya for an extended period, but that he was allowing them both some time off.  
  
-------------------   
  
"Thank you, Sir." Napoleon was silent for a few seconds before speaking again, "Sir...if Illya *doesn't* regain his sight and has to leave UNCLE...what will happen to him?"   
  
Mr. Waverly regarded Napoleon carefully before replying. "Mr. Kuryakin is one of our own...and we take care of our own."  
  
"Thank you, Sir," said Napoleon again.  
  
---------------------  
  
Later that day, Napoleon made his way back to sickbay. As he approached Illya's room, he could hear a raised voice swearing in Russian, and a nurse hurried out, her face flushed. She jumped in surprise as Napoleon called her name.  
"Oh, Mr. Solo...I...I didn't see you there."  
  
"Is something wrong, Nurse Finn?" asked Napoleon.  
  
"No...yes," she sighed in exasperation. "It's Mr. Kuryakin. I was trying to help him get dressed so he could leave, but he refused my help, and then he swo...he ordered me out of the room."  
  
"I can't imagine why," said Napoleon, with a flash of his winning smile.   
  
Nurse Finn blushed, "Anyway, he said that he could manage fine by himself."  
  
"Mr. Kuryakin has always been stubborn like that. Don't worry, I'll see that he gets ready."  
  
---------------  
  
Knocking gently at the door, Napoleon pushed it further open. Illya was sitting on the bed and wrestling with a shirt. Hearing the door, he turned towards it. "I told you, Nurse, that I don't *need* your help," he said, a note of annoyance in his voice.  
  
"Doesn't look like it from where *I'm* standing," replied Napoleon, with a smile as he walked into the room. "Here, let me give you a hand there."  
  
Before Illya could protest, Napoleon had deftly untangled the shirt and was helping him pull it on.  
  
"Thank you," said Illya, grudgingly as Napoleon started to button it up. "But I would have managed on my own."  
  
"I'm sure you would have," said Napoleon. "Eventually..."  
  
"Why are you doing this?" asked Illya, abruptly.  
  
"Because if you walk out of here without your shirt on, half the ladies in the department are going to swoon at your feet, and I don't want you tripping over them."  
  
Illya made a dismissive gesture. "I didn't mean *this*," he said, plucking at the shirt. "I meant 'this'..." He gestured around him. "Offering to look after me so I don't have be stuck here indefinitely."  
  
"It's the least I can do," said Napoleon, trying to keep his tone light, but adding mentally, "it's the least I can do considering that if it wasn't for me then you wouldn't *need* someone to look after you."  
  
Illya frowned as he heard the note in his friend's voice. He caught Napoleon's hand. "I do not blame you for this, old friend," he said, indicating his eyes.   
  
"You don't have to," thought Napoleon as Illya continued.  
  
"What happened was something that could not have been predicted. We had both checked for booby traps...perhaps I should have moved faster...or gotten out of the way quicker..."  
  
"Or not gotten in the way at all," thought Napoleon. It didn't matter that Illya didn't hold him responsible for his injury...he would never be able to forgive himself for what had happened. Sure, they had both checked for traps...but Illya had concentrated on the room, and it had been *his* job to check the actual filing cabinet. Somehow he had missed something, but Illya had been the one to pay the price.  
  
--------------------   
  
Napoleon guided Illya through the door of his apartment and to a seat on the couch. Illya had initially wanted to stay in his own place, but Napoleon had pointed out that Illya's entire apartment would fit into *his* living room, and they would both be more comfortable in his place. They had briefly stopped at Illya's apartment to collect some clothes for him, and once again Napoleon had been stuck by how austere his friend's living accommodation was. The only concession to luxury was a large set of bookcases, which were filled to overflowing. As Napoleon gazed on the range of subjects, which they held, he felt another pang of guilt at the thought that Illya might never again have the opportunity to enjoy them.  
  
"Do you want something to eat?" asked Napoleon, once Illya was seated. "I can fix something up in the kitchen, or maybe order some take out?"  
  
Illya leaned back tiredly against the cushions. "I haven't had much of an appetite lately," he admitted. "Not that that stopped the nurses from trying to force upon me that appalling mess they call food in sickbay."  
  
Napoleon tried to hide his concern...Illya was usually able to eat no matter what the circumstances. "Well I think I can produce something more appetizing than that."  
  
"That wouldn't be hard," muttered Illya, tiredly.  
  
---------------------  
  
Napoleon watched with relief as Illya finished his last sandwich. True, he wasn't eating as voraciously as usual, but at least he *was* eating.  
  
Finally he pushed the plate away and said, "Thank you Napoleon...that was most appetizing." Groping around for the napkin, he wiped his mouth with it.  
  
"You missed a spot," said Napoleon. "Here...let me." He carefully cleaned away some sauce that had spilled onto Illya's chin.  
  
"You are as bad as those nurses," grumbled Illya good-naturedly. "They must have been terribly clumsy, because every time they insisted on feeding me, I always had to have my top changed afterwards."  
  
"The nurses can get a little...over-enthusiastic," agreed Napoleon, with a smile. "Last time I was stuck in sickbay, they seemed to want to give me bed-baths every hour. Nurse Lockhart was the worst...gentle as a battleaxe and a face to match."  
  
"I can't say I noticed that," said Illya. There was a note of sarcasm in his voice, which he regretted even as he heard it.   
  
Napoleon fell silent, embarrassed by his gaffe. Before he could think of a way to ease the tension in the air, Illya spoke again.   
  
"I have made arrangements for some files to be delivered in the morning."  
  
"Files?" There was a note of surprise in Napoleon's voice.  
  
"Yes. Apparently there is quite a backlog of paperwork to be dealt with." Initially, Illya had had absolutely no desire to even enquire as to the state of the paperwork in the department. All he had wanted was to get away from UNCLE headquarters. Knowing that he might no longer be able to serve the agency to which he had devoted so much of his time over the past few years had been a crushing blow, and every sound, every smell in the building just served as a reminder of what he had lost. And at the back of his mind was the fear of what he still *could* lose...the only reason he was in America in the first place was because of his work as an UNCLE agent...if he was no longer with UNCLE...  
  
But then Mr. Waverly had visited him once the doctor had cleared him to leave, and had explained to him that his talents could still be of use to the organization.   
  
"How can I be of use like this," Illya had said in disgust, indicating his bandaged eyes.   
  
"Your brain is still functioning normally, I take it?" Mr. Waverly had said. "Good, because that can still be of use to UNCLE. The people who work at headquarters are just as highly valued as those who are in the field. Your intelligence, your fluency in languages...you have many skills with which you can still contribute."  
  
He had then left Illya to contemplate his words and eventually come to the conclusion that if he *was* to still have a place in the organization, then he should do something about it...hence the paperwork which was causing Napoleon some surprise.  
  
"But you..." Napoleon bit back the words. God knew, he had already been tactless enough with Illya.  
  
"But I can't read the files?" Illya said. "True...and neither can I write the reports...but you can read the files to me, and I shall dictate the reports to you. Of course your writing will have to improve significantly over its usual scrawl."  
  
"My writing is perfectly legible, thank you," said Napoleon, a trace of indignation in his voice until he saw the smile on Illya's lips. "Very funny."  
  
------------------  
  
Napoleon guided Illya into the spare room and eased him down onto the bed.   
  
Illya stifled a moan as his head touched the pillow.  
  
"Illya?" asked Napoleon, concern in his voice.  
  
"It...it's nothing...just a headache," said Illya, tiredly. Dr. Harte had warned him that he would be prone to such pains for several days, and that it could take a while for his energy levels to be at their usual peak.  
  
"I'll get the painkillers you were prescribed," said Napoleon, turning towards the door.  
  
"No," said Illya, quietly but firmly. "I don't need them...I'll be fine...just...just hurts when I'm tired."  
  
Napoleon could see from the lines on Illya's brow and the way his fists were clenched, that his friend was in more pain than he was letting on, but he didn't want to press the issue. "Tell you what," he said, finally. "I'll leave some Aspirin by the bed...just in case you want something."  
  
"...kay," mumbled Illya, his face half hidden in the pillow.  
  
"I'll get you some pajamas as well," said Napoleon. "Be back in a minute."  
  
But by the time he returned with both the Aspirin and the nightclothes, Illya was curled up on the bed and asleep.  
  
Rather than wake his friend, Napoleon carefully removed his shoes and loosened his shirt, before tucking a blanket gently around him. Brushing the blond hair out of Illya's face, he noted with relief that the lines of pain had eased somewhat. "Goodnight my friend," he said softly, his hand brushing over Illya's as he smoothed the blanket. "Pleasant dreams."  
  
Illya mumbled something inaudible and moved restlessly, but he didn't wake as Napoleon closed the door behind him.  
  
------------------  
  
Mindful of Mr. Waverly's warnings about possible attacks, Napoleon made sure that the recently installed security system was fully armed before he too retired for the night. But he didn't find it as easy to fall asleep as Illya did. Staring at the ceiling, he wondered how he would have coped had their positions been reversed.   
  
Finally after what seemed like hours, he fell into an uneasy sleep, only to be woken abruptly by the sound of his security alarm, which was blaring loudly.  
  
"Illya!" he thought as he jumped out of the bed.  
  
-------------------   
  
To be continued  
  
Ceindreadh 


	4. I should have stayed at headquarters

Title - The Unforeseen Consequences affair  
Chapter 4 - I should have stayed at headquarters  
  
Disclaimer - Sadly I don't own any of the characters, but if I ask real nicely then maybe I'll be allowed to borrow them from MGM.  
  
Rating - PG-13 (because the characters just wouldn't let me make it higher rated)   
Archive - If you like it, sure.  
  
-------------------  
  
Previously on The Man from UNCLE -   
A seemingly straightforward 'information retrieval' assignment turned out to be a trap. Napoleon narrowly escaped death when Illya managed to push him out of the way of a booby-trapped filing cabinet. Napoleon escaped with minor bruising, but his main concern was for his partner who had been rendered unconscious by the blast.   
To his shock, he found out that Illya had been blinded by the explosion, and the doctors were unable to predict whether his condition would be permanent or not. After a few days without any improvement, Illya insisted that he be allowed to leave, maintaining that he could take care of himself, even if his enemies tried to take advantage of his injured state.   
Napoleon insisted on having Illya stay at his apartment so he could protect him, and try to assuage the guilt he felt over his injury.   
After a meal, Illya was so tired that he fell asleep in his clothes.   
  
-------------------   
  
Rather than wake his friend, Napoleon carefully removed his shoes and loosened his shirt, before tucking a blanket gently around him. Brushing the blond hair out of Illya's face, he noted with relief that the lines of pain had eased somewhat. "Goodnight my friend," he said softly, his hand brushing over Illya's as he smoothed the blanket. "Pleasant dreams."  
  
------------------  
  
Mindful of Mr. Waverly's warnings about possible attacks, Napoleon made sure that the recently installed security system was fully armed before he too retired for the night. But he didn't find it as easy to fall asleep as Illya did. Staring at the ceiling, he wondered how he would have coped had their positions been reversed.   
  
Finally after what seemed like hours, he fell into an uneasy sleep, only to be woken abruptly by the sound of his security alarm, which was blaring loudly.  
  
"Illya!" he thought as he jumped out of the bed.  
  
-------------------   
  
Grabbing his gun, Napoleon hurried to the door. In spite of his concern for Illya, he was too good an agent to simply rush blindly into the unknown. Ignoring the sound of the alarm echoing through the apartment, he concentrated on moving carefully down the corridor. Reaching the living room without incident, in fact without any sign of intruders, Napoleon paused. He wondered if the alarm had scared off whoever it was had triggered the security system. Granted, THRUSH agents were unlikely to let a little noise deter them, but there was always the possibility of a common or garden burglar who had been stupid enough to pick on his apartment.   
  
A quick glance around told him that the front door was still shut, and all visible windows seemed to be unbroken. Finally, he made his way to the control panel, concealed behind a picture and switched off the alarm. The sudden silence was almost deafening, but Napoleon's trained ears could hear a muffled noise coming from a darkened corner.   
  
Turning around quickly, he brought his gun up in one fluid motion, ready to fire at the figure he saw almost hidden in the shadows. "Throw down your weapon and stand up slowly," he ordered the figure, which was crouched in a corner. "And keep your hands where I can see them." The figure showed no signs of having heard him. Napoleon moved slowly towards the figure, which appeared to have his hands clasped firmly over his ears. It wasn't until Napoleon was closer that he recognized the blond shock of hair. "Illya?" he gasped, as he hurried to his side and crouched down beside him. "What happened?" Putting one hand on his friend's shoulder to turn him around, Napoleon was taken by surprise when Illya turned and hit out at him.   
  
By pure luck, Illya's fist crashed straight into Napoleon's face and knocked him off balance. The gun went flying from his hand and slid across the floor. Momentarily stunned, Napoleon watched as Illya stumbled past him. It wasn't just the punch in the face that was causing his temporary daze; it was the look of abject terror on Illya's face as he had pushed blindly past his partner. Napoleon watched him; Illya stumbled into a chair and went crashing heavily to the ground.   
  
Before Illya could recover, Napoleon had pulled his wits together and caught up with him, pushing him back down to the ground as he tried to crawl away. "ILLYA," yelled Napoleon in the Russian's ear. "It's okay...it's me, Napoleon...you're safe..." It took a few seconds for Napoleon to get through to Illya, but finally the younger man stopped struggling against him.   
  
Wrapping his arms round his friend, Napoleon could feel Illya's whole body trembling as he pulled him up to a seated position against the wall.   
  
"Napoleon?" Illya's voice was unsteady, and he clutched at Napoleon's arms as if for reassurance that it was indeed his friend and not the unknown assassin he had feared when the hand had landed on his shoulder.   
  
"It's me...you're safe...you're in my apartment, you're safe," Napoleon repeated. He could hear Illya's breathing return to a more regular rhythm. Finally, when he judged that his friend was calmer, he loosened his grip on him slightly.   
  
Illya lay silent, his head resting on Napoleon's chest. The feeling of his friend's comforting arms around him, made him feel much safer, so when he felt those arms move away, he instinctively clutched at them to keep them in place.   
  
"Did I hurt you?" he asked finally.  
  
"What?" asked Napoleon, momentarily confused. "Oh, the punch? No, you barely touched me."  
  
"I'm so sorry, Napoleon. I...I didn't know it was you...I couldn't see anything, and the noise...I thought it was an attack...I woke up and I was in this room...and I couldn't see anything...and I didn't know why, and when I tried to feel my way around the room, the alarm started going off and I just...I just couldn't move..." Illya swallowed hard, remembering the panic he had felt as the siren had almost deafened him. As it had echoed through his skull, his only thought had been to try and get away from it, and when the hand had grabbed him, he had reacted without thinking.   
  
"Shh," said Napoleon, reassuringly. "It's all right. It's my fault for switching on the alarm in the first place. You must have tripped a sensor by accident."  
  
"I am a danger to you and myself," said Illya quietly. "I should have stayed at headquarters."  
  
"No!" said Napoleon, firmly.   
  
"But it is true. I...I panicked...I forgot all my training...all I could think about was getting away. I could have seriously injured you."  
  
"Shh, but you didn't," said Napoleon.   
  
"But I could have," said Illya, softly.  
  
"But you *didn't*..." Napoleon instinctively pulled Illya closer to him. "And if you had...it would have been no more than I deserved."  
  
"Napoleon..."  
  
Napoleon interrupted him; "I was the one who missed that booby trap and I was the one who set it off...it should have been me that got caught in the blast, not you."  
  
Illya shrugged. "Believe me when I say that I was not *intending* to get caught by the blast. Had I reacted faster, then both of us would have escaped. Napoleon, what has happened has happened, we cannot change it. All we can do is accept it and move on."  
  
"Are you always this fatalistic?"  
  
"Refusing to accept what has happened will not change it. I...I am blind...possibly permanently..." Illya swallowed hard before continuing. "But I can still be of use to UNCLE...if not in my usual capacity. Sometimes it is necessary to settle for what one can get. And this...it could have been worse...not to be able to see again is not the worst thing that could have happened."  
  
"No?" thought Napoleon to himself. Personally, he couldn't think of anything worse. He knew that Illya was right...no matter how unfair it was...some things just had to be accepted...but he secretly resolved that the next chance he got, he was going to indulge in a spot of research of his own. Surely there was *something* that could be done about Illya's condition. True, the UNCLE doctors were highly trained people, but they weren't perfect...maybe somewhere out there was an eye specialist who *would* be able to do something more than just tell Illya to just wait. And if there was something that could be done for his friend, by God, he was going to find it.  
  
"C'mon partner," he said, finally. "I think we've been sitting here long enough."   
  
Illya felt surprisingly reluctant to leave the safe haven of Napoleon's arms, even though he knew that there was no danger...not for now anyway. With a stifled sigh, he moved away from Napoleon who scrambled quickly to his feet, before grabbing Illya's hand and pulling him up.  
  
Illya stumbled and would have fallen if Napoleon hadn't caught him.   
  
"Easy there," said Napoleon, wrapping his arms round the younger man. "Come on, let's get you back to bed."  
  
Illya rubbed irritably at his eyes as Napoleon steered him back to the spare room. "I think I could use some more of that cream the nurse gave me," he said finally. "My eyes are a little itchy."  
  
Napoleon looked at him with concern. "Your dressings are a little loose. I'll change them for you."  
  
"Thank you...Nurse Napoleon," said Illya, a note of amusement mixed in with relief.  
  
"Just try to behave a bit better with me than you normally do with your nurses. I swear that Nurse Finn was almost in tears after you threw her out of the room."  
  
"And I am sure that you were well able to 'comfort her'," commented Illya dryly.   
  
"It's a dirty job, but somebody has to do it. Okay, the bed is just beside you and to the right," said Napoleon. "I'll just get the medical kit."  
  
Returning with the medical supplies, Napoleon switched on the bedside light so that he could see what he was doing. This was not something that he wanted to make a mistake with. Pulling up a chair, he sat in front of Illya, and carefully peeled away the sweat soaked dressings.  
  
"Ouch," yelped Illya as the adhesive tugged at his skin.   
  
"Sorry," said Napoleon, turning away to drop the used dressings in the bin. When he turned back to Illya, the Russian had his hand up in front of his eyes. "What's wrong?"  
  
"The light...it's too bright," said Illya.   
  
Napoleon was reaching out to direct the light away from Illya's face, when the words suddenly hit him. "Illya? What did you just say?" He held his breath, hardly daring to believe what he had just heard.  
  
"I said..." Illya stopped as he just realized what he had said. "The light...Napoleon, I can see a light!" He blinked his eyes open again and tried to focus on the shape in front of him. It was fuzzy and definitely not 20/20...but there was no mistaking the familiar face of his partner. "Napoleon," he said softly, reaching out to brush his hand against Napoleon's face, almost to reassure himself that he wasn't imagining things.   
  
Napoleon caught the hand and held it there. "Welcome back old friend," he said, quietly, the relief evident in both his voice and his face.  
  
Napoleon wanted to bring Illya back to headquarters to get Dr. Harte to check him over once more, but Illya had refused. He did however agree to Napoleon phoning UNCLE to inform the doctor of the change in his condition, and reluctantly agreed to be brought in the following day to be re-assessed.  
  
"I suppose they will be poking and prodding and testing me all day," grumbled Illya, sleepily as he curled up on the spare bed.   
  
"Probably," smiled Napoleon, "Promise you'll behave this time?"   
  
Illya made a dismissive gesture. "Maybe," he said, with an evil grin.   
  
"Sleep well, my friend," said Napoleon, as he moved towards the door.   
  
"Napoleon?" said Illya, softly.  
  
"Yes, Illya?"  
  
"The worst thing...worse than not being able to see...ever..." Illya was silent for so long that Napoleon wondered if he had fallen asleep, when finally he continued, "It would have been never to see...to see *you* again...tovarish..."   
  
Napoleon rested his head against the doorframe. When his emotions were finally under control, and he was sure that his voice was steady, he said softly, "Goodnight tovarish," and closed the door on his sleeping partner.  
  
------------------  
  
The End  
  
Ceindreadh 


End file.
